


Tethered

by Vaeh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Just Bear With Me, M/M, No character bashing, Post DH, Slow Burn, at least i hope so, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaeh/pseuds/Vaeh
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is still struggling with the past and trauma, all while trying to learn ordinary life of working as an Auror. It doesn't really help when the Ministry gets a rather unexpected visitor from a rather unexpected place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello yes! This is my first fic ever I'm daring to post and bother you with. It's mostly just getting ideas out of my head, so expect a lot of cheesiness and even more plotholes. Also, English is not my first language and although I try my best, you should probably expect mistakes. Sorry

_He watched, stunned, as his hand reached out to grasp the Elder Wand, how those crimson eyes narrowed in sudden realization and how in that split of a second all the rage and determination was replaced with absolute terror, right before that living spark was gone. And then the man that haunted him his entire life fell, fell, fell back so slowly he wondered if time would stop before he reached the ground…_

“Harry? You still with me, mate?” Someone’s voice snapped him back to reality. Ron was standing right next to his desk, holding a cup of what smelled like hot chocolate. Harry looked around, still disoriented after being ripped from his thoughts so abruptly.

 

They were the only ones in the office. Most of the lights and candles were extinguished, the only exceptions being Harry’s and Ron’s desks along with a couple work cabinets. Everyone must’ve already left for the Christmas break, Harry realized. It was almost midnight after all.

 

Not that it surprised him, really. There never was a lot of work during these days; aside from designated few, most of his co-workers gladly left to spend time with their families.

 

“Yeah, sorry, Ron. Just thinking about this report,” Harry responded only after a moment, combing his hair back with his nails. His report page was still completely blank. “You need something?”

 

“I asked if you want to join us for winter break. Mom really looks forward to seeing you this year, and so do we, mate. Ginny is asking for you, too, so if you could…”

 

Ron’s drink shook dangerously as the man continued to speak, waving his hands around in excitement about some new broom he and George got Ginny. Harry could barely stand that smile Ron gave him. It broke his heart to leave them like this; ever since they finished their training Harry hadn’t spent a single Christmas with them, filling up his time with excuses that someone needed to be in the office.

 

He still wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t actively trying to avoid his friends, he still loved spending time with Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys were like a family to him. No, they _were_ family to him. Harry was sure that the only thing holding Mrs. Weasley back from asking Harry to call her mum was the fact that him and Ginny weren’t exactly back together yet.

 

They were happy, the Weasleys. Ron and Hermione. It was just a matter of time since his best friends finally decide to get married, and Harry felt terrible when he couldn’t reciprocate that happiness they all wanted to share with him. The Battle of Hogwarts… took something from him. Ever since that morning when they all watched Voldemort fall, everything was as if he’d be looking at his life through another person’s eyes.

 

He never really expected to live past that day, Harry realized in the weeks following their victory, when all the stress and fear and exhaustion were finally gone and he had to think what was he going to do from that point on. All the plans he ever had were those childish plans of becoming an Auror, of becoming family with Ginny, of living his peaceful future without ever looking back, without nightmares ruining his life, without the ghost of Voldemort haunting his thoughts every step of the way.

 

There was never any escape from this. Those were just dreams of a boy that had to sacrifice himself when the time was right. Reality, as Harry quickly learned, proved to be very, very different. His nightmares never really went away. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry still woke up covered in sweat and a silent cry on his lips, going back to the graveyard, to the Ministry, to the Forbidden Forest where all he could see was red, red that swallowed him whole…

 

He often dreamt about that frail, dying thing, about that piece of Voldemort’s soul that was always with him. Ever since his parents died, it was there with him when he laughed and when he hurt. It was there with him when he met Ron and Hermione. It was there when he fought off the dementors to save Sirius and when he destroyed the horcruxes.

 

There was a sense of guilt that twisted his guts, thinking about what Dumbledore told him then on the station in his mind. _Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all those who live without love._

Was there a meaning behind those words about a boy who made all the wrong choices, who, even though Harry hated so much to admit it, was so very much like him? He gave Voldemort a choice to lower his wand, to be a man and think of what he had done, wasn’t it enough?

 

Wasn’t it? If so, even if it was Riddle’s own madness that caused his curse to rebound… why did _he_ feel like a murderer?

 

 

“Harry? Harry, everything okay, mate? You’re doing it again,” Ron reminded Harry of his presence with a pat on his shoulder. Harry shook his head and rubbed his forehead, scratching his scar out of habit.

 

“I’m sorry, Ron, I’m just trying to think of anything to write down here so Savage doesn’t kill me”

 

“I doubt he’d kill you, Harry, he’s really impressed with your work. Me on the other hand…” A blush of embarrassment slipped on Ron’s cheeks when he must’ve thought about what happened just a week before. It wasn’t like Ron purposefully let that Death Eater go, but he must’ve at least _considered_ the fact that the giant spider popping out of nowhere was being a bit suspicious…

 

“He messed with your head, Ron. I mean, if I saw an Acromantula charging at me, I would’ve probably be running too,” He lied, but the lie was enough to soothe Ron’s nerves. His friend must’ve still worried that Savage was planning some punishment for Ronald’s failure.

 

“So… Will you be staying over for Christmas?” The hope in Ron’s voice almost choked Harry before he could respond.

 

“I- … I can’t. I already promised I’d be here, so…”

 

“But you’ve been here a year ago! And two years ago! Come on, Harry, I’m sure Padma or Seamus could-“

 

“I can’t make them come here because I suddenly change my plans, Ron,” Harry replied trying to sound stubborn, but he couldn’t meet Ron’s eyes as he denied his request again.

 

There was a moment of silence between them. A moment of tension; Ron looked like he was considering something. A look of thoughtfulness shadowed his eyes, finally replaced by resignation when his friend let out a sigh.

 

“You can’t isolate yourself forever, Harry. We’ll wait for you, mate. We always did and we always will. But, well… we miss you. Hermione misses you, I miss you. Mom’s going crazy you’re always all alone. We all love you, Harry.” He still smiled at him, Harry realized, and guilt turned his stomach upside down. How could he do this to his friends?

 

“I know it must be overwhelming for you, but it’s been five years. It’s time to move on, you did everything you could, so- …

 

So just in case you change your mind- We’ll leave an empty chair for you.”

 

No wonder Hermione chose him in the end, Harry thought, feeling another pat on his shoulder while Ron took his leave, wishing Harry a good night. Anything that Ron lacked, he surely made up twice with his heart and his love.  


And perhaps he would visit them, he promised himself. It was about time to stop hiding himself away from the world. _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,_ a small voice in his head reminded.

 

He glanced down and groaned at his still unfinished report. There were things he liked more and less about being an Auror and this was definitely around the bottom of the list.

 

… Honestly. This whole job was at the bottom of his list. How could he get so helplessly stuck with a job he didn’t want to do, Harry had no idea. Guessed it must’ve been just so very like him to force himself into a position he didn’t wish to be in, witnessing terrible things he was already tired of seeing. A haunting presence of Snape mocked him from beyond the grave because of this, he was sure of it.

 

Yet, it was true. He didn’t want to witness cruelty anymore. He did not wish to see the results of a dark ritual when they were too late. He didn’t want to see his friends die when someone cast a counter curse a second too slow. He saw it all his life, Harry thought. He went through this over and over again, and now he was still as deep in it as he was before.

 

Harry still hasn’t completely come to terms with the death of Auror Edwards from last year. And then the Death Eater that cast the killing curse was still somewhere out there doing things Harry knew was best not to think about. Yet he still thought of them, unable to sleep, looping himself in an endless circle that pretty much addicted him to coffee.

 

If only McGonagall would just let him stay. He already promised himself to try again like the last year and the year before that. Harry tried for the position of the Defense teacher as soon as they finished their late, last year at Hogwarts.

 

“I’m sorry, Potter. You’re too young” He could still hear the Headmistress say that, pity in her eyes bothering him more than anything else. Too inexperienced, she told him. Perhaps in a couple of years, if he’d still be interested, she’d hire him.

 

He didn’t look at Dumbledore’s portrait that year, not then and not during any of the following years, feeling those twinkling, kind eyes at him and being perfectly aware of what Dumbledore must’ve thought of him, seeing Harry so desperately return to hear the same answer every summer. He would try again this year. And the next year too, he’d wait as long as it takes. Hogwarts was the only place he truly considered his home.

 

 

The clock ticked four when Harry finally leaned back in his chair, going over his report one final time. It was too short, he knew. He knew Savage was going to return it and ask for more details, but he didn’t have the mind or energy to write anymore sense into his words than he already did.

 

He was about to head out when something caught his eye, pressing him to look down at his desk. A cup – his cup, still partially filled with coffee. It took him a moment to realize what was so odd about it, until he realized the liquid inside was stirring around the edges.

 

Did he accidentally knock it with something? Harry wasn’t even sure anymore. He lifted his cup and watched it for a while, finally sipping the rest of his drink and blaming it on his tired head. And that’s when it happened again.

 

A sudden change swept through the air the second before the first quake happened. The walls trembled, briefly, but this time there was no denying it wasn’t just Harry’s imagination. It sobered him up and brought him up from his seat to look around for a source. The Ministry was protected from any interference from above, right?

 

A minute passed. Then another. Harry convinced himself that these things simply tend to happen when you work at a place filled with magic. He bent down to pick the quill that fell down on the floor.

 

Harry didn’t even have the time to catch on to the desk when another quake dropped him down to his knees, not nearly as gentle as the first. This was no single miscast spell vibrating through the local area. The very walls of his office creaked when the Ministry began to shake once, then twice and then more, each of those bursts increasing in strength.

 

Someone’s cup fell down and crashed against the ground. The old clock heaved dangerously and it was Harry’s speed that locked it in place as he was already making his way out into the Atrium.

 

“Ah-!” Harry fell back on the ground, his rush stopped when someone crashed into him, about to mumble his apologies till he saw an Unspeakable trembling in front of him.

 

“Something’s- … Something’s wrong with the Veil!” The man squeaked, gripping Harry’s robes and clutching to him for help when another howl shook the Ministry. Someone yelled in the distance, there was a sound of something large crashing and several office workers ran past them towards the elevator. “You got to help! Everything’s falling apart, the Ministry’s-!”

 

“Call the Minister, tell him it’s urgent!” Harry was already back on his feet, trying to keep his balance. “Tell him to gather everyone here and make sure they help getting everyone out! Smith and his group should be on the second floor, tell them to head down to the Department of Mysteries!”

 

There was no time to waste. Harry rushed down through the halls towards the elevator, blasting debris out of his way and helping get those unfortunate few that got stuck underneath fallen sculptures.

 

This couldn’t be good. He hopped onto the elevator only when there was nobody else left waiting. The ride to the Department of Mysteries felt like forever, and the lower the elevator went the more violent the trembling became.

 

_It’s magic,_ Harry repeated himself, heart rattling in his chest, when waves of devastating energy creaked the very structure of the prison he found himself in. _It’s magic. The elevator is magic. It won’t fall, it won’t fall, it-_

 

The next blast tore the elevator off its hinges.

 

“ _Arresto momentum!_ ” Harry cried out, casting the spell underneath his feet. It wasn’t strong enough to hold the elevator’s movement and it crashed down with just barely enough safety to let him crawl out before the rest of it collapsed under its own weight, but not before his body was tossed against the ground, hitting his head in the process. Something slashed his arm and Harry hissed, casting a spell for the elevator gate to open, feeling warmth spreading underneath his left sleeve.

 

His legs still moved. He could still breathe. He had absolutely no idea that the spell would work, and thankfully it did.

 

 

“Merlin’s beard, Potter! Is every entrance of yours as dramatic as this?” An Auror named Liam helped him up on his feet and someone else closed the bleeding wound on his forearm.

 

“Crashing the party,” He replied to with a smile, still dizzy from the impact.

 

There were six Aurors and two Unspeakables judging by their robes gathered by the ruined elevator, all with wands at the ready, sending uncertain looks towards their only way out that was, well, out of order for the time being. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

 

“We were waiting for Savage to back us up,” a young woman who Harry vaguely recognized from Hogwarts was the one to speak. “… Seems like nobody’s coming with us now”

 

“They’ll have to find their own way down here, now let’s go before the whole Ministry crashes on our heads!”

 

 

Crossing the black door into the Entrance Chamber felt like crossing an invisible barrier into a room filled with liquid. The air was so thick and heavy with magic it became difficult to breathe.

 

There was no doubt this time which door lead to the Veil. It was completely devastated, dropped off its hinges and still kept in the air by the same magic that raised their hair up. A distant crash echoed from deep within the chamber and Harry jumped when his very wand sparked in response.

 

He had no idea what they were about to do. There was nothing- the ones surrounding him looked just as terrified and confused as he was when they finally entered the Death Chamber and saw the amount of ruin it was in. The whole, high ceiling levitated above their heads _in pieces_ and the walls didn’t look like they’d last much longer.

 

“What’s it doing?” Someone behind Harry dared to ask while they carefully made their way closer. The cloth, the very same cloth Sirius fell through… It fluttered as if there was a gust of wind pushing its edges. As if s _omething_ was moving it, filling the entire chamber with whispers, whispers they all no doubt heard.

 

“We don’t- we don’t know! It never behaved like this, never before!”

 

The young Auror behind Harry gasped, holding her head as the whispers became more audible. A sense of foreboding filled the air, sinking into their bones. There was something terribly, terribly wrong about to happen, something that chilled him to the core when another gust of wind blew the old cloth off the ground, something that made them all look at the center of the room where the Veil stood.

 

“We need to destroy it,” Harry heard himself say.

 

“You can’t-!” One of the Unspeakables shouted back in response, but Harry was already walking down the crumbled path.

 

“We need to destroy it before it ruins the whole Ministry!”

 

“You don’t understand! The Veil cannot be destroyed, Potter! It’s been here longer than the Ministry itself! Longer than anyone can remember! Don’t you think we _tried_?!”

 

“Well I’m not letting it crash the ceiling on our heads without a fight! So if anyone’s willing to help then-“

 

The rest of his sentence died out in his throat, since in that instant, the whole chamber was flooded with light beaming from the center of the Veil. It blinded them, dropping them down to their knees as whispers turned into a howl. There was a rip, nobody could see it but they all felt the rip in tension, the threshold that was suddenly reached and overflowed when all the energy in the air was sucked back in and concentrated around the very center of the Veil.

 

And then they saw the hand, reaching its way from behind the cloth. From behind nothing, since there was not a person standing on the Veil’s other side.

 

Harry swore his heart died when he saw it. Thin, bloody fingers twitched and pushed their way further and further into the world of the living, when the ground began shaking again and the light once more increased.

 

It grabbed the air, contorting in a way he couldn’t understand until someone screamed in realization of what exactly they were witnessing. Those were bones. Bones that were quickly growing around in flesh and blood that poured on the floor as the _thing_ from the other side gradually pushed its way through. It convulsed, curling its fingers into fists and then reaching out further as a figure slowly emerged, dropping to its knees the moment gravity began to affect it.

 

“Who’s the last one that went through the Veil?”

 

“… B-Black. I- I think it’s Black…” Harry heard them whisper, unable to tear his eyes off of the bloody figure. Oh no, this was no Sirius. There was no way Sirius would ever go through this, there was no way this twitching, contorting body lying bloody on the floor, tossing as its muscles filled the tissue would be his Godfather.

 

Sirius was not powerful or determined enough to ever become this. Sirius was too proud, he faced death with his chin held high, Harry knew that the moment his Godfather emerged from the Stone five years ago. It wasn’t him.

 

… And there was only one person Harry knew who’d be ever capable of putting himself through this.

 

He thought he heard himself gasp at the realization, watching how the figure rose to his knees and pushed its legs from the veil completely, then fell into convulsions once more. A noise came from it then, a breathless cry of a person whose throat has not formed yet, but who surely experienced pain beyond anything Harry could ever imagine.

 

They all stood there completely dumbstruck, some turned the other way and huddled onto others’ shoulders. They couldn’t watch, they couldn’t bear to stand the screaming that started oh so abruptly and sent dread through Harry’s very core. He wasn’t even sure how much time has passed before it stopped.

 

… But eventually, it did. The figure lay there, curled like a fetus and shielding itself from harm and pain that was surely still there, slowly fading away. Covered in its own blood from the top of its bald head to the tips of its curled, shivering toes.

 

Harry was the first to move. He thought he heard Liam order him to stay where he was, but his feet were already moving and leading him through the debris towards the center of the chamber. The Veil became still; all magic surrounding it was slowly dispersing.

 

He didn’t think to help the Aurors support the ceiling from falling to their heads. He was lucky someone did, sparing Harry’s head from getting crushed by a rather large piece of stone. No, there was nothing else inside the room for him than the vulnerable thing that slowly relaxed as it breathed chilled air into its newly formed lungs. His presence must’ve done something to alert the one lying on the ground… or perhaps it was merely a coincidence that the moment Harry stepped on the dais, the figure turned from his side and onto its back, one hand stretched while the other remained on its bony, heaving chest, flat nostrils fluttering to catch as much air as they could.

 

He stopped by the man’s side, looking down at his flat face in silence. And then the man opened his eyes ever so slowly, and green met red.

 

It was an eternity while they stared at one another, unmoving and, in that moment, absolutely and completely alone in existence.

 

Harry felt something grasp onto his robes. Fingers of that outstretched hand curled delicately against the rim of his clothes as those thin, bloody lips parted, forming a single, voiceless word.

 

_Harry_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thank you for all your comments, it's really pleasant to hear you enjoyed the first chapter, thank you all so much! <3 Hopefully this one won't disappoint you, it's still bit of a setup for what's to come.

 

It took two Aurors to stop Harry from pushing that man wherever the hell he came from. He was already half way there before they grabbed him by the elbows and dragged aside. And even then, he managed to add in a kick.

 

How! How was this possible! Riddle didn’t live like a man, but he could at least _die_ like one, for Merlin’s sake! Harry just couldn’t believe it, why did it have to be him _again_ to witness Riddle do so something unspeakable? Why couldn’t it be someone else, why couldn’t that bastard wait an hour longer so Harry would be staying comfortably at home until the morning, and not locked away in the Department of Mysteries with the man that probably came back just to kill him? And most of all, why did it have to be just the most brutal, unimaginable way possible for the man to reappear? Could Voldemort for once _not_ destroy everything in his path?

 

They didn’t let Harry near Voldemort after his repeated attempts of sending Tom on his way back to hell. Oh, quite the contrary, after they made sure Harry was safely out of reach, Voldemort was actually being _guarded_. Guarded! From him! And their whispers about this possibly, oh possibly being Sirius Black were just-!

 

“That’s not Sirius Black! I knew Sirius Black, I knew perfectly well how he looked like! He was my bloody Godfather and I’m telling you _that_ is not him! That’s Voldemort, and if you don’t listen to me he’ll- Oh stop it!” Harry snapped when most of the group began to twitch or sigh after hearing that name. He turned away to help fixing their only way out as soon as possible. Or rather to make sure that he wouldn’t curse anyone for how stupid they were, fearing the name but not doing a single thing, not a single bloody thing to make sure the man bearing the _same damn name_ wouldn’t potentially wake up and murder them all on the spot!

 

… He didn’t last more than five minutes before turning back to them again.

 

“You know you’re purposefully letting him go, right? We should just throw him back there before he wakes up and does something we’ll regret!”

 

“Potter, just- just stop! You can’t even be sure; it can be just a body-“

 

“But I am, Liam! I am sure! Have you seen him – have you seen his _face_? Does that look like Sirius Black to you?!” Harry’s voice echoed through the broken hallways of the Department of Mysteries. The elevator was already half way fixed. Someone upstairs was surely doing their fair share of work.

 

“It’s not that simple, Harry, it’s-“

 

“No! No, it _is_ simple! It’s very simple! We go back and we throw him back in, and that’s all! Sounds simple enough to me, don’t you think?”

 

“This isn’t for us to decide,” another Auror cut between their conversation and Liam quickly nodded. As did the others. A thought crossed Harry’s mind to stun them all and drag Voldemort’s unconscious body back to the Veil. Of course, in the end, he didn’t. Once his initial rage was dulled by the wait, Harry silently admitted to himself that he probably wouldn’t dare to make the final push even if he had the opportunity. That didn’t make him any less happy, quite the contrary. Voldemort deserved it for all he’s done. For all Harry lost, for all his friends went through, along with too many others.

 

At least seeing this damn, wretched bastard made him realize that Harry did not pity him after all.

 

And just like that, Voldemort ruined his Christmas. Really, Harry expected nothing else.

 

***

 

Three days passed since the event at the Ministry and Harry replaced his sleep with excessive amounts of coffee. Nobody could stop the commotion or spread of the news about, well, something wrong happening at the lower levels of the Ministry, but the moment they stepped out was the moment when they knew they had to keep their mouths shut.

 

Not many people knew about the Veil. And the Unspeakables did breach essential information to people who shouldn’t have known about the Death Chamber at all. The Ministry did not waste time before putting them on trial; the following morning a few of those that alerted the Aurors on the upper levels found themselves standing before court. Harry of course was there too, waiting along with other witnesses until it was his time to tell his version of the story.

 

Nobody was sentenced of course, not to anything drastic at least. Kingsley was a great Minister in Harry’s opinion, and just expected he handled the situation with care, though in the end two of the Unspeakables did lose their positions and were forced to take the Vow to make sure they wouldn’t spill anymore secrets. Their panic simply wasn’t enough the amount of revealed detail to some regular Ministry workers.

 

At no point of the trial did anybody mention or even ask what happened at the Department of Mysteries. Liam warned him beforehand that whatever happened downstairs was to remain secret. Enough people heard of the Veil’s existence to begin with and anything more would surely lead to panic.

 

Harry told nobody, then. Even if he _could_ tell Ron and Hermione about what happened, about just whom they salvaged from the dais, he really didn’t want to. They were so happy building their future together that even if something was about to happen, Harry didn’t want to take it away. Those were old wounds he’d be tearing. None of them were really the same after the year leading to the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had his demons to deal with and so did his friends.

 

It wouldn’t help with his nightmares anyway, since after the second night he only managed to close his eyes once just before dawn. Wasn’t even an hour later when Harry curled in his bedsheets covered in cold sweat and dread clenching his throat, visions of Voldemort emerging from the Veil flashing under his eyelids until it made him physically sick.

 

By the time the Sun rose, Harry already finished his coffee, sitting in the dark living room of his temporary house, holding his robes between his legs and staring at its rim, at the barely visible stain where those fingers dared to grip. Voldemort’s blood. His blood.

 

… Did they miss something? Were there more horcruxes? Was it even possible that there were more? Or did Riddle latch itself onto life some other, maybe even more horrible way? Seeing Voldemort emerge from the cauldron during his fourth year was nothing compared to seeing his entire body form itself in the most gruesome way possible. _He did great things, after all_ , a voice in Harry’s mind reminded him of Ollivander’s words while he watched how the Aurors took the unconscious, covered body away. _Terrible, yes. But great._

 

He only realized he was trembling when the cup slipped out of his hands.

 

***

 

“Take a seat, Potter”

 

Savage waved his hand, scribbling something by the desk in his office. The soft sound of quill scratching against paper along with his footsteps were the only things accompanying Harry across the Head Auror’s perfectly organized room, and even though the man’s desk was stocked with paperwork, it was always arranged in a way that let Savage fill everything out smoothly.

 

A quick flick of his wand, the Head Auror sent a complete catalogue levitating to its assigned locker, and summoned a parchment from top of the shelf to Harry’s right. The old guest chair creaked when Harry sat on it, focusing on how fake sunlight reflected against a cabinet filled with magical artifacts behind Savage’s back.

 

It didn’t have the same magic as Dumbledore’s office, Harry thought, trying to remain patient while Savage finished his work, but it surely remind him of McGonagall’s neat classrooms.

 

It was Christmas Eve, and although still early, Harry had the impression this man wasn’t planning on celebrating it either.

 

“If this is about my report,” he began, but Savage only raised his hand, finished up a few last sentences and put down the quill, crossing his fingers on the desk when their eyes finally met. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice when the his attention just briefly averted to his forehead.

 

“Your report was fine, Potter. This is not why I called you here”

 

Harry expected the man to continue after that, but Savage fell silent and again looked down at the desk. His gaze became unfocused and that wrinkle between his brows deepened in thought. He was considering something, and judging from how stiff his hands became, it couldn’t have been anything good.

 

“Oh,” Harry tried his best not to look uncomfortable. He had a vague idea what this was going to be about. “Why did you call me here then, sir?”

 

“I have a new … task for you, Potter. You aren’t taking your leave this year, I presume?”

 

“No, I’m staying. But sir, is this- … Is this about-“

 

“It has been confirmed that the identity of our, ah, guest is indeed what you claimed it would be. He still hasn’t regained consciousness since crossing the Veil, however, and we had to obliviate three Healers after all their tests confirmed he was stable. Now, the thing is, Potter-“

 

“Wait, healers? What do you mean by that? Why would you- Did you take him to St. Mungo’s?!”

 

“Potter-“

 

“… Oh! Oh, you did, didn’t you? You took Voldemort to St. Mungo’s! How could you ever do this!” Harry wasn’t even sure when his body lifted up from his chair. He watched them gather around Voldemort’s concealed body and take him somewhere, but he expected- well, Azkaban, really! Some place far, far away, some place safe! “Are you out of your mind?!”

 

“Potter-!”

 

“That’s the dumbest idea I heard in my life! You took Lord Voldemort to the place where there’s tons of vulnerable, sick people and expect- what _did_ you expect exactly? What do you think is going to happen when he wakes up? Or why don’t you transfer him to Hogwarts while you’re at it, that’s going to keep everyone safe!”

 

“Enough!” Savage slammed his palm onto his desk and rose to meet Harry’s eyes himself. It humbled him down, the way the Head Auror looked down at him made him realize he perhaps spoke too much. Damn it, the last thing Harry needed now is getting himself suspended.

 

“ _The thing is_ , Potter,” Savage repeated through his teeth, leaning back to his seat only after Harry himself sat down again, „We cannot endlessly obliviate anyone we let near him, and we need _someone_ there to watch over him until he gets better.”

 

“ _Gets better_? With all due respect, we shouldn’t care if he gets better, sir! We shouldn’t be helping him, he had plenty chances at life before and he wasted them all, over and over again! The least we could do is _not_ help him survive this!”

 

 Savage remained silent this time, letting Harry ride out his building rage until he calmed down again. Only when Harry finally dared to finally look at his supervisor, as rebel of a look as it was, all while rubbing his thighs to cope with his own nerves getting to him, did the man lean in to speak.

 

“You still don’t understand this, do you, Potter?” The Auror’s voice lowered to just above a whisper. “This isn’t about the Dark Lord’s reappearance. It is unfortunate that it is him out of all people, but it doesn’t change a thing in our current situation.

 

There is no way to bring back the dead, Potter. You can summon ghosts extract living souls or raise an army of Inferi to do your bidding, you can even try and communicate with spirits beyond, but the moment someone dies is the moment of no return. Countless witches and wizards spent their entire lives on this subject, subduing to their own madness when again and again all their plans and ideas failed.

 

Haven’t you ever wondered what the Veil is, Potter? You know of its existence, you were here during your fifth year. Haven’t it ever crossed your mind, that little thought, about _why_ is it kept here, so deep underground and under such security?

 

The Veil is old, Potter. It is older than the Ministry; it is ancient magic that’s kept the ragged cloth untouched for centuries, and no matter what you heard or read, we have no idea where it came from or who created it.

 

It’s been here forever, and in the earliest of times Wizards used it as means of execution, as means of trial that ultimately lead to the pit of benches being built around it.

 

How many people you think were pushed through the Veil, Potter? How many executions can you count being performed over hundreds of years, and how many of our Unspeakables you think died, trying to find a way to study what’s on the other side? And we are speaking about documented history here.” Savage paused, letting his words sink in.

 

“There is a reason the Veil is isolated in the depths of the Ministry, Potter. It’s a dangerous object, even the Unspeakables don’t stay near it for long; they claim it beckons them to cross. Some of them claim there is a presence on the other side that whispers to them. And all throughout history, not a single person came back. Not one.

 

This isn’t some anomaly that happened, Potter. You must understand. This isn’t bending the rules, not some rare occurrence that just tends to happen every once in a while. Whatever this is, it broke the rules of life entirely off its hinges. Things like these are never left without consequences, Potter, and the greater the breach, the worse we tend to expect. If one person comes back from the dead, what makes you think the others won’t follow? And what happens if they do? Or what state will they be in, after centuries of being dead?

 

Do you see now why it would be _beneficial_ to us if You-Know-Who awakened?”

 

“… You want to question him,” Harry replied, his own voice faint in his ears.

 

“We need to at least try and get answers, Potter. There is no other way around it, if he can cast some insight on what happened then we’ll take whatever we can.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but you make it sound like he’ll gladly talk to you about this. I don’t think he’s the type to do that.”

 

Savage took a deep breath, then, though the sigh that followed didn’t really seem like relief. No, Savage looked like an exhausted man when his head pressed against the back of his chair and, for a while, his blue eyes stared at the ceiling.

 

“We have our ways to make him speak, Potter. You aren’t the only one who lost someone, you know.” Harry wasn’t sure what to think about what he just heard. Maybe it was best not to think about this at all. “… It’s unlikely he’ll ever wake up, though. One of the healers said she has never seen someone’s soul so fractured in her entire life. It’s completely torn to pieces, she said. It’s still whole, but- … whatever crossing the Veil did to him is beyond our help. It’s improbable he’ll regain consciousness at all.”

 

But it wasn’t the Veil that did this to his soul, Harry thought. He had lived a long life with just a fragment of himself, and Harry had no doubts that Voldemort would wake up again. It was just the matter of time before he does.

 

He still didn’t agree with this. Whatever happened at the Department of Mysteries could and should be solved without Voldemort’s presence. It was the best moment to seal him off somewhere safe, just like they did with Grindelwald. Harry only hoped that Kingsley would be smart enough of a Minister to see reason before they make a terrible mistake.

 

“Why does it have to be me?” Harry asked then, not hiding the fact he wasn’t exactly eager to involve himself with Voldemort any more than necessary. He won his battle, for Merlin’s sake. Voldemort shouldn’t have been his responsibility anymore. “I wasn’t the only one there to witness his comeback. Liam is a better Auror than me; he’s more experienced, he’d be best for this job than the rest of us. Why not send him instead?”

 

“Harlow and the others are currently working on reconstructing the lower levels of the Ministry. The quakes damaged several of more dangerous objects stored in the Department of Mysteries, so until they’re done, Harlow’s primary task will be securing the Unspeakables’ safety. We don’t want another Time Room incident.

 

Don’t misunderstand, Potter; once they’re done with the Ministry’s mess, you will switch shifts with them, but frankly… You’re the only one who’s able to stand You-Know-Who’s presence without pissing yourself.”

 

Savage ended that sentence with a smile and for the first time in a while, Harry felt accomplished at something. Even if it was as simple as not being scared of Voldemort’s presence, it was pleasant to see someone who didn’t take it for granted.

 

As it turned out, Savage expected him to start right away; his other tasks were either rescheduled or given away completely so he had all the time in the world to keep the unconscious Dark Lord company.

 

How very much like him, Harry thought on his way to the Atrium, to go ahead and do the impossible. To think Snape blamed Harry for his love of breaking the rules. Even the Marauders would have to give their crown away to a man who, apparently, did not take it to heart to stay dead like the rest of regular people. Maybe Voldemort taught himself how to make food out of nothing as well. Hermione would have a heart attack if she knew.

 

***

 

A loud snap of a reporter’s camera greeted Harry’s arrival at the Hospital. It seemed that the commotion from the last few days at the Ministry still hasn’t died out; several workers of the Ministry present that night were injured by the results of those rapid quakes, so naturally the reporters were here to gather as much information as they could. And once they spotted Harry, they did not leave his side until he asked the Healers for help to send them away.

 

Yes, seeing himself on the front page of tomorrow’s Daily Prophet will surely help to keep this case nice and quiet.

 

He was directed to the fourth floor after a Mediwitch checked his wand and sealed a bracelet around his wrist for security purposes, instructing him to access the closed ward. Neville’s parents were still here, still as damaged as during the first time Harry saw them, if not worse. They seemed to age faster, he realized. Not incredibly so, but their bodies were withering like Muggles would. He wondered what Neville thought when he saw his mother’s hair turning grey. Was this for the best, or was he still hoping that somehow, at some point they’d show at least a glimpse of sanity? Harry knew he couldn’t handle it, if it was him instead of Neville. If this were his parents, mindlessly roaming around the same hall for years without a chance of ever recognizing him. He hated Voldemort for killing his mom and dad, but he hated Bellatrix more for what she’d done to the Longbottoms. There is fate worse than death, just like Dumbledore once said. And this was just one of the examples.

 

They had arranged Voldemort a whole new section of the closed ward. A small hallway separated the rest of the fourth floor from the chamber ahead, sealed off by nothing but simple door, currently guarded by one of the older Aurors. He nodded a greeting at Potter, slightly bored perhaps, and after checking the bracelet for authenticity, stepped away to let him through.

 

He had no idea who or what he was guarding, did he? No, judging by the man’s smile when his shift finally ended, he didn’t look like someone who just got his free time away from the Dark Lord himself. More like a guy who’s just happy to get home and celebrate Christmas.

 

“It’s someone important, isn’t it?” The man’s grin widened; probably hoped to get some information out of him. “I know it’s not Shacklebolt cause I’ve seen him, but they wouldn’t be sending you here unless it was someone important.”

 

“Err… Yeah. Suppose you could say that.”

 

He was about to enter through the door, but the guy was still there. Harry waited for a moment before he turned around to face him, smiling like he didn’t know the guy expected him to reveal a secret or two.

 

“Merry Christmas,” he wished as farewell and opened the door narrowly enough not to let the Auror see a single thing. Why couldn’t he just peek inside if he was so curious? It must’ve had additional enchantments that prevented him from doing so, though Harry stopped wondering about the details because the second he entered the chamber was the second that man vanished from his thoughts. Along with everything else.

 

It was just him, then. Him and the figure curled in the narrow bed situated on the left side of the windowless room, hidden under the covers. His heart must’ve skipped a beat since his vision began to spin and he had to lean back not to lose his balance. It took Harry a while to move from there; he wasn’t sure how long was he standing there and staring how the thin cloth around the sleeping man moved ever so slightly with his every breath, but finally, oh finally, Harry stepped forth.

 

It was so unreal, seeing Voldemort like this. So ridiculously vulnerable, lying on the Hospital bed, covered with gray quilt all the way up till his pale face that looked so very comfortable on the large pillow. It was like a dream, Harry thought. Voldemort didn’t really sleep, did he? No, surely not. He didn’t rest; he was always just… there, plotting someplace dark and lonely. Harry’s mind must’ve stripped Voldemort of his humanity so much that sleep became an abstract subject when it came to the Dark Lord, surely he wasn’t alone in this either. It was easier this way, seeing him like a being – closer to a dementor than the handsome young man Harry knew Voldemort once was.

 

Yet, there he was. Looking like he was cold underneath a quilt too thin to his liking, knees tucked closely to his chest. He must’ve moved sometime in his sleep because nobody would leave him like this.

 

There wasn’t much else in there rather than the bed itself. Aside from a couple empty shelves, there was an old, metal chair that Harry wasn’t sure who left it there. Not like Riddle had any visitors here, or so he hoped. He was betting on one of the Healers after being done with their work, or perhaps it was here along with this entire room even before Voldemort’s arrival. Either way, there was no reason to stand on the opposite side of the chamber all day. He turned it to face the bed instead of the door and plopped down on it, crossing arms on his chest as he leaned back.

 

After two hours of mindless staring at sleeping Voldemort, Harry got the impression that this job wasn’t going to be as exciting as it sounded.

 

“… Merry Christmas, Riddle. You sick bastard,” Harry snapped.

 

Riddle responded with a louder sigh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least they gonna do stuff together in the next chapter >.>

**Author's Note:**

> So there, tell me what you think, don't bully too much. The story will probably pick up the pace in later chapters, had to set up some stuffs. Probably.


End file.
